Motherhood and Feminism

Shortly after I gave birth to my daughter and put my career on hold, I ran into an old friend.

She and I had been close as children and later, as roommates. I was the more studious and informed of the two of us and often kept her apprised of current events and important women’s issues. While she spent a lot of time ensuring a high gloss on her hair and perfecting the art of the eyebrow arch, I spent hours and hours reading in my room.

When I went to college, she drifted from job to dead-end job. While I advanced in my career, she languished in retail. And when I became engaged to be married, she began dancing… and I don’t mean Broadway. By the time I was pregnant, I heard that she owned a tanning salon and was dancing full time with “a little help from the plastic surgeon“.

So, it was as much a surprise to me as it was to her when she passed judgment on my life decisions. And I actually accepted it.

I was having lunch at the mall with my baby daughter when I saw her breeze by in all her spandexed splendor.

“Lena!” she exclaimed stopping short, “Oh my God! You had a baby?!”

“I did!” I responded as she eyed the chubby squawky bird in my lap.

“You’re still working at the bank though, aren’t you?” she asked, eyebrows raised.